Angel Fallen
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Meet the New Boss missing scene: What a difference 36 hours and a conscious brother make...


**Angel Fallen**  
K Hanna Korossy

So there had been pretty much two options: getting the broken Sam and Impala home to Bobby's, or getting Sam home and coming back for the Impala later. At that moment, Dean honestly could not care less about the car, but when Bobby said he could score a tow truck and get them all home as easy as anything, Dean didn't argue.

He had something far more important to worry about.

"How's the head?" Dean asked as he tugged the limp and bloody hand up to rest on his knees.

Sam's face was still half buried in Dean's armpit, where he'd sagged when Bobby and Dean had lowered him to the grass just outside the building. It seemed to Dean like the position would be both uncomfortable and, well, smelly, but Sam didn't seem to want to budge. His voice was exhausted and dazed as he mumbled, "Hurts."

"I bet," Dean said with sympathy. He was examining the torn palm, but it looked miraculously free of glass and debris. At least in the moonlight; he'd clean it out at Bobby's. For now, he yanked the handkerchief free from his pocket—used more often for field bandages in their world than for colds or courtesy—and started folding it into a pad. "But you're on the right channel now?" He didn't know what Sam had seen back there, but from the way he'd started gasping and then screaming, Dean was betting it was surround-pain Hell-o-vision. He himself had had enough flashbacks after Hell to send a therapist fleeing—still did, occasionally, if he was honest—and he was pretty sure Sam had had it about a billion times worse in the Cage.

"Uhhm…" Sam coughed into Dean's shirt, still shaking beneath both Bobby and Dean's jackets. They'd briefly discussed him and Dean waiting inside for Bobby, but the heavy stench of blood and a rot Dean was pretty sure had blown in from Purgatory, seemed far worse to face than the chilly spring night. "M'here."

"Good." Dean eased the folded cloth under Sam's hand—just realizing as he did that his own limbs weren't exactly steady, either—and wound it around the injured hand once before tying it off.

Sam hardly flinched at the pain, and Dean couldn't help think on what kind of suffering Sam was experiencing that a gashed hand barely registered.

The only thing he could fix right now, fixed as much as possible, he put an arm around his brother's quaking shoulders and started to rub some warmth and, hopefully, a little sanity into him. "Stay with me, okay? You're out, Sam—remember that."

A jerky nod. Sam's hand was still on Dean's legs, and it turned to grasp his knee.

Dean held the kid a little tighter, pulled his own jacket closed across the heaving chest. "So how'd you get here, anyway?" he asked, more to keep Sam focused than for information, though he'd wondered. Sam had barely been on his feet when he'd shoved that blade through Cas—something Dean was carefully not thinking about right now—and it seemed impossible that he'd not only woken and read Dean's note, but then actually crossed two states to come to the rescue. It was hard enough to believe that not even forty-eight hours before, they'd been huddled on the ground just like this, waiting for Bobby to drive up, except with Sam deeply and possibly permanently unconscious. As screwed up as things were now, Dean couldn't help but be so thankful for the difference. There'd been times he'd been prouder of the kid, but not many.

"Uh, some angel. I p-prayed…" Sam coughed again, fingers curling into Dean's jeans.

Dean ducked down to check: no blood on his lips, at least. As messed up as Sam was, most of the damage was in his head. Which was cause for both relief and a thready panic. "What angel?" Dean asked absently as he fumbled Sam's wrist to check his pulse. Racing, of course.

"Some angel," Sam repeated, sounding as baffled as Dean at the idea. "Din't want…Cas t'do…"

Okay, that kind of made sense. Had to be a lot of the winged host who weren't on board with Cas's plan to harness Purgatory's power. That was easier to believe than shocky and shaky Sam driving ten hours, or finding a bus or a cab that would take him. "Good idea," Dean murmured, eyebrow rising as Sam abandoned his knee and grabbed onto his hand, holding on like it was all that was keeping him from being sucked back into Hell.

And, Hell, maybe it was.

"Okay," Dean said, drawing a breath. Sam had already gone massively above and beyond on this one; it was time now for Dean to take point. "Okay, Bobby's gonna be here soon, we're gonna get you flat and warm, take you back to Bobby's, okay? Fix up you and Baby good as new. All right? You hear me, Sam? Just hang in there a little longer." Dean glanced left and right, briefly upward in aborted plea. Crap, what was taking Bobby so long, anyway? Had to be a lot of unattended tow trucks sitting around at 1 a.m. They should've ditched the car, gotten Sam home in the first—

"I remember," Sam whispered. The clearest words he'd spoken since he'd collapsed.

Dean looked back down at him, unable to see much between the curtain of damp hair and the bad angle. "What? Yeah, I figured. Sorry, man." Besides fear for Sam's marbles, Dean had other reasons for hoping Sam never remembered Hell.  
"No, I…" Sam actually shoved a little higher at that, using as leverage a grip on the back of Dean's shirt that Dean hadn't even noticed before. "Not…down there. Here. Soulless-me. Got his memories, too."

He should probably worry about Sam talking about himself in third person, but in the scheme of things, that didn't even crack the top ten right now. "Yeah?" Dean said, trying for a smile now that Sam was balanced on the ball of his shoulder and could actually see him. "You remembering the women? 'Cause, dude, there were a _lot_ of—"

Sam didn't even give him a bitchy look, probably barely registered the tease, and that alone would have told Dean how low his battery was running. "I did…things. Killed innocent p-people. Almos' killed Bobby, _you_…"

Dean was already shaking his head. "No. Hey, no, you listen to me." He grabbed Sam's chin, the one he'd carefully shaved just half a day before while Sam lay unconscious and Dean didn't know if he'd wake up again. He choked down the emotion and stared into Sam's glassy eyes. "That was _not _you. Yeah, okay, it was your experience and your memories and your geek brain, but the empathy, the morality, the…stupid puppy eyes—everything that makes you, _you_—all that was gone. It was like demon-you was in charge without the whole black-eyed thing, and you were still…" he hedged, "…more or less…on the right side. Maybe the means were…more hardcore than usual, but it was still the right end."

Sam's eyes were shiny, and Dean had no clue if it was because of pain or angst or just the crazy. "Tell that t'Robin."

"Who?" Dean shook his head. "Okay, you know what? We're not talking about this right now. Not when you woke up from the worst freakin' brain scramble _ever _and made it a thousand miles just to back me n' Bobby up. Far as I'm concerned, your slate's clean, man."

The corner of Sam's mouth twisted up. "'Blanket apology'?"

"Screw the apology," Dean said with quiet vehemence. "We saved the freakin' world, Sam. They owe _us."_

Sam actually exhaled a laugh at that. "That workin' for you?"

Dean didn't miss a beat. "Not for, like, even a second. But you keep telling yourself, and I will, too, deal?"

Maybe he was fooling himself, but Sam's eyes looked a little less manic and more just plain exhausted. "Yeah. 'Kay," he sighed. His head rolled inward, against Dean's neck, and this time he was pretty sure Sam at least felt less cold and shaky.

He snorted softly to himself as he palmed the back of the tousled head. Figured it would take full-on cuddling and hand-holding for Sam to start finding his feet. But if that was what he needed, Dean had no problem with it, the world be damned. Dean hooked his chin on the matted hair, started chafing Sam's arm again. "We're good, bro. We're good," he murmured. Some part of Sam always believed that when Dean said it. And some part of Dean could believe as long as Sam did.

Bobby drove up a few minutes later in the biggest tow truck Dean had ever seen, complete with a double cab that even Sam would fit into. Climbed out, and helped Dean get Sam in.

And didn't even blink at Dean not letting go of his brother's hand the whole time.

**The End**


End file.
